Sean Walsh

I live in Dublin, Ireland. Sometimes. Most times I live in my head, quite unaware of my surroundings – if you know what I mean… If you succeed in tracking Sean Walsh, please let me know, ok? I've been searching for him for years…

Wee Nudge




‘Ever say the odd prayer yourself, Sean?

 Hmmm… Odd is right. To be honest,

I’m not much of a hand at it –

Sure, I can hardly get through

a Hail Mary without an Alien or two

flitting through my head…


Tell you what, though: I try to find

a quiet space, betimes, search and find him:


In Joseph’s carpentry, shaping wood

with hammer and saw…


Walking a rich pasture, calling to sheep

that know his voice…


At a wedding feast in Galilee,

his mother giving him the elbow,

whispering in his ear, urgently:

“They have no wine…”


By the sea shore, calling men

who would deny and desert him

to be fishers of men…


Exploding in white-hot, righteous anger,

at those who had turned his father’s house

into a den of thieves.


Or – best of all – find him seated at the well

awaiting the Samaritan woman…


I’d sidle up to him, then,

my forehead against his shoulder

and nudge… and again, nudge…

until he’d turn to look at me…

Ne’er a word, then… Just –


Deep, harrowing sorrow,

limitless forgiveness, unending love…


But does it work? Does it what!

All you need is a heart –

and the neck to nudge

God made man.



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